Fade Into Morning
by Shunyata Ryuen
Summary: Sequel to Moonless Nights. Can Nuriko help Tasuki and Chichiri sort through their past? (Not shounen ai--so far. ^_~.)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:  **We all envy you…Yuu.  ^^;

**Author's Note:**  After receiving a very kind email a month or two ago requesting that I write a sequel to "Moonless Nights," I decided that, perhaps, I'd give it a try.  Naturally, those who know my fics know that I'm a huuuuuge Nuri/Hori supporter, and that I rarely write fics based on romances between…ahh, well, anyone else. ^^;;  So, for the record, I'm not really a Tas/Chi supporter…but, hey.  It could happen. ^_^.  

Thus.  Beware of shounen ai, beware of Tasuki language, and, although there is no actual sexual content in this fic, there is reference to some, so…yeah, if that bothers you, probably you're reading the wrong fic. ^^;;

**Fade Into Morning**

by Ryuen

~*~

He was good at keeping secrets.  

Of course, given the fact that he'd successfully masqueraded as a woman for almost eight years, there were few who would contest that fact.  But…

Nuriko sighed, drawing his knees to his chest and dropping his chin onto them.

But, this was too much!  Great Suzaku, how could Chichiri _stand_ it, going from day to day with the person who had…had…  He shuddered.  How could he stand to even be in the same room with Tasuki after what they'd been through?  How could he look him in the eye?  How could he _not_ want to talk about it??  

He closed his eyes, slim eyebrows drawing together on his forehead.  

_Okay.  Deep breath, Nuriko.  Chichiri trusts you.  He doesn't want anyone else to know about this.  So, no matter how much you want to talk to someone about this, no matter how much you neeeeeeed to talk to someone about this, you c--_

_Wait.  Just.  A minute.  _

"Ahhhhh!"  He sat up straight, managed to knock the back of his head against the wall in the motion, but barely noticed the sudden flash of pain.  "Hotohori-sama!!"

_Chichiri said…Chichiri said that he was talking to Hotohori-sama about it…  He must know!!  _

He'd gathered his sleeping robes around him and was halfway to the door before reality finally struck into him.

He came to a slow halt, bare feet dragging against the carpeting, and stopped just in front of the door.  His hand dropped down to his side, hung there limply for a moment.

_What're you gonna say, ne, Nuriko??  What in the name of Suzaku are you going to say?  You can't just burst into Hotohori-sama's bed chambers at this time of night and scream, "Nenene, you know Tasuki raped Chichiri when they were younger, right??"_

_Baka._

Sighing, the young seishi turned, retreated back to his bed and lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress.  As he did so, he caught a glimpse of himself in the dressing table mirror, and despite all that weighed on his mind, he found himself spending a moment examining the reflection.  

Thick violet hair, plaited into a loose braid and dangling over one shoulder; eyes of muddled brown, violet, and rose, crowned by dark lashes; skin that was blemishless but breathtakingly-pale, smooth from years of cream-application and marred only by the dark rise of a mole, set just beneath the left eye.  

Nuriko closed his eyes briefly, a soft mist of wind trickling in through the window, fluttering the bangs against his forehead.  He knew this reflection well; he'd spent half of his life altering it, refining it, and drawing it more into the realms of femininity and beauty.  How many hours had he spent before the glass, perfecting the shy batting of his eyelashes or the slight twist to the lips that communicated demureness, politeness, and respect?  How much time had he devoted to the brushing and styling of his hair, to painting the delicate rose onto his lips?

And, now, it had all come undone.  Now, the colorful bows and barettes lay dusty and unused on the polished mahogany of the dressing table, exchanged instead for the simple piece of black ribbon that held his braid.  The collection of face powders and lipsticks and eye liners had been packed away, tucked deep in a bureau drawer so as to offer no reminder of days past.  Because…he'd shed this mask.  The makeup, the decorated, perfumed hair, the voluminous dresses…they were nothing but futile attempts to conceal his true self, to hide away the maleness he'd spent so much of his life struggling to suppress.  

Miaka and the other seishi had changed all that, when they'd trickled into his life and shifted his priorities.  

_I owe them everything.  I owe them my life—my freedom.  If it weren't for them, I'd never have come so far that I can sit here with my robe hanging open and my chest visible and not feel like I've failed Kourin, somehow.  I'd never have been able to find this kind of freedom without them.  All of them.  Hotohori-sama.  Miaka.  Tamahome, Mitsukake, Chiriko.  Tasuki.  Chichiri.  _

"Chichiri," he whispered, and the realization slammed into him so suddenly that he gasped.  

_You haven't shed your mask, have you?  Even with all of us around you, you still hide behind it.  Why?  Why is it so different for you?    
  
_A part of it, he knew, was that Chichiri, as the oldest of them, typically fell into a near-paternal position in regards to his friends.  Wisdom and control, power and lightheartedness…

_You make yourself seem untouchable.  You make us believe that you don't need us like we need you._

_But, that's not true, is it, Chichiri?  You need us just as much.  _

_  
Maybe more._

Suddenly decided, Nuriko rose from the edge of his mattress, worked his way to the door and, this time, gripped the handle.  He wasn't sure precisely where he was going or what he was going to do once he got there, but something inside of him drove him onward, twisted his wrist and pushed on the door and urged his feet to carry him out onto the palace walkway.

It was a warm night; the moon was out, casting a silver shadow over the palace and its grounds.  He could make out, if he turned his head to the left, the subtle bend of the walkway, twisting its way around the palace, and could see glimpses of movement and torchlight, as well as hear the occasional braying of laughter or speech.  As a matter of fact…

_Tasuki.  It must be.  No one else in the wooooooorld laughs like that._

Pausing a moment to tug the door closed, Nuriko slipped his hands into the folds of his robes and started off down the walkway.  The wood was glossy and smooth beneath his bare feet, having been polished to an unnatural shine over the years by any number of servants and workmen.  As he walked, toes pressing against the cool, soft wood, he couldn't help but glance at the night sky, flecked with the salt of stars and gleaming with moonlight.

_It was on a moonless night, he said. _

_Gods.  I can't imagine what it must've been like for him…for Tasuki. _

_How can he not remember?  How can he not know that…that it was Chichiri?_

As his gliding steps drew him closer to the flash of fiery hair, the rising bray of laughter, he couldn't help but wonder:  _What if he doesn't –want- to remember?_

These and all other thoughts bled from his mind, however, as he stepped into the warm circle of torchlight, slid forward, and found himself face to face with Kou Shun'u, the Suzaku shichiseishi Tasuki…

…who had, quite obviously, been drinking.

"Heyyyyy, Nurikooo!" he greeted loudly, lifting a glass.  A fair quantity of amber-colored liquid sloshed out with the motion, formed a darkened splotch on the younger seishi's pant leg.  "How's it goin'?  Great fuckin' night, huh?"

He winced as Tasuki staggered towards him, catching a flood of alcohol-scented breath full in the face, and reached out just in time to steady the younger man before he fell.  "Hi," he managed, offering a wide, only-partly-forced smile.  

A moment later, Tasuki managed to steady himself somewhat, brushing off Nuriko's supporting hands with another slosh of his drink, and soon had leaned his back against the walkway banister.  There, with his shoulder pressed to a thick beam and his feet planted firmly on the ground, he seemed steadier, so Nuriko relaxed.  

"So," Tasuki slurred, "whatcha doin' out here, huh?  Wh'rntcha…asleep er somethin'?"

Nuriko gave a toothy smile.  "Eheh…ano…why don't we go inside, ne, Tasuki-chan?"

_This isn't good. I've never seen him this drunk before…and, that's saying a lot._

Apparently, Tasuki was just slipping into the Extremely Agreeable and Easygoing phase of drunkenness, because he simply nodded and started to stumble towards the door of his chambers.  Nuriko followed, keeping both arms outstretched just case, but Tasuki made it into the room without losing his balance, and so all was well.

Once inside, the younger man made his determined drunken way to the bed, which had seemingly been made into a bar of sorts—the sheets and pillows were lying in a rolled up pile on the floor, and the mattress now held a variety of glasses and bottles, some dribbling their contents slowly into the fabric, others full and apparently unopened.  Tasuki, upon reaching it, flopped down onto the bed, making the bottles leap into the air and crash into each other; some cracked, sending floods of alcohol soaking into the mattress.  

The fiery-haired seishi took it all in stride, collapsing into some very frightening giggles at the sight.  

"Fuckin' look at it!" he crowed.  "Fuckin' mattress gettin' trashed…look at it, N'riko!  Mattress gettin' fuckin' trashed on my fuckin' sake…"  He laughed again, hands pressed to his mouth as if to muffle the sound.

Nuriko raised an eyebrow.  "Ahhhh, Tasuki…"

..and, suddenly, something changed.

He'd been moving slowly towards his drunken companion, prepared to smack him into the wall, if necessary, to stop the giggles, but they stopped on their own…and, what replaced them made him skid to a halt, shocked and afraid—all he could do was stand there, feeling cold and helpless, with arms hanging limply at his sides.

"T…Tasuki?"  
  
The seventeen-year-old had been lounging sloppily on the bed, laughing so hard that tears were trickling from his eyes…but, now, he was sitting there with slumped shoulders and hands pressed to his face, shaking slightly beneath the weight of sudden, merciless tears.  

_I don't understand._

_I…I don't understand._

Not knowing quite what else to do, Nuriko slid forwards, lowered himself carefully onto the edge of the alcohol-soaked mattress, and touched the younger man lightly on the shoulder.  "Tasuki?" he repeated, careful to keep his voice soft and soothing.  "Tasuki, daijobu?"

Tasuki mumbled something, but through his hands and his tears, it was impossible to understand.

"Tasuki.  Tasuki, take the hands away from your face, ne?  So, I can hear you?"  Carefully, Nuriko brought his hands to those slightly-larger fingers, peeled them away from the tear-stained face…and found the younger man with his eyes squeezed tightly closed, features contorted in geniune anguish.

_What the hell brought this on??_

"It isn't fuckin' fair," Tasuki whispered, and Nuriko was more than a little startled when the fingers in his own suddenly tightened their grip.

His eyes were wide; it seemed like he was having trouble drawing in a full breath.  "What…what do you mean, it isn't fair?  What isn't fair?"

Tasuki's eyes slid open.  "Life," he choked.  "Life isn't fuckin' fair.  I know what he told you, N'riko."  A long pause; Tasuki drew in a shaky breath, let it out in a sob.  "I fuckin' know."

~*~

**AN: **More to come.  Alas, I have a ten-page paper due tomorrow, and thus I'll have to leave off here…but, until then, let me know what you think.  ^^;;


	2. Chapter 2

[Fade Into Morning]  [Chapter 2]

~*~

Nuriko went rigid, staring at the young bandit with horror and shock in his eyes.  "You...you know..."  His tongue felt large and ashen in his mouth.  "How...?"

"'zit matter?  Fact is, I know, and _you_ know, and...fuck.  Didn't spent six fuckin' years o'my life tryin' to forget about it to have to deal with all of you knowin' about it now.  Shit.  I was a fuckin' _kid_, ya know?  What the hell'd I know 'bout anything?"

"Tasuki, no one is blaming you for this," Nuriko said firmly, trying to force as much assurance as possible into his voice.  "And it isn't as if _everyone_ knows about this."  He frowned, staring at the younger man with narrow, concerned eyes.  "How...how did you know that--"  

_I can't say it.  I-I can't..._

Tasuki looked up at him with bleary eyes.  "What?" he slurred.  "How'd I know it was 'Chiri?"  When Nuriko looked away, a flush creeping into his cheeks, the bandit gave a short laugh and lay back on the bed, jarring the bottles further.  "I didn't," he admitted at last, "not at first.  I mean, shit, it wasn't like I spent the next couple'a years after that thinkin' about what happened then.  It was just--"  He swallowed, adam's apple bobbing.  "It was just somethin' that fuckin' _happened_, ya know?  Couldn't do anything about it, so why think about it?"  
  
"Then--"  His voice sounded too soft, too weak, but he couldn't seem to find the breath to make it any stronger.  "Then, how did you know?"

There was a long, painfully-silent pause, and then Tasuki drew in a deep breath, pushed himself off the bed and to his feet, and staggered over to the nearby bureau.  Made of the same dark, polished mahogany as in Nuriko's own room, the surface of the bureau was covered in a fine layer of dust, more evidence—if the cluttered floor and drooping flowers in the corner wasn't enough already—that the young bandit refused to allow even a single maid within his chambers.  Nuriko barely noticed the disorder, however, as he watched the younger man tug the second drawer towards him and—biting hard on his lower lip as if trying not to cry—reach into it with shaking fingers.  

Once he'd removed the desired object, he didn't turn, but Nuriko could see enough of it to recognize it—a slim gold chain, glittering in the lamplight, and a round, azure-colored crystal ringed in gold...  His stomach clenched.  "K...Kourin's necklace," he managed.  "I thought I lost—"  
               
"Ya fuckin' _did_," Tasuki interjected gruffly.  Jaw clenching, he lifted the fingers over which the chain was splayed and stared at it, shaking his head slightly as he did so.  "I found it today while I was walkin' around.  Musta dropped it when you were leanin' over the banister o'the walkway, or somethin', 'cause it was layin' there on the ground.  I got most'a the mud off for ya, and I was comin' over to give it back—"  He broke off, a hint of anguish creeping into his tone, and let the upraised hand fall limply to his side.

Seeing his friend standing there, looking so hurt and so ashamed and so vulnerable, filled Nuriko with the longing to go to him, to be a strength for him, someone he could lean on while he was weak and in pain...  But, no matter how deeply he wanted to be there for Tasuki, his legs refused to lift him from the bed, and so all he could do was sit there, stunned and motionless, and try to draw breath enough to speak.  "You...you heard," he managed at last, the words coming out as barely a whisper.  "You heard what Chichiri said.  Didn't you, Tasuki?  You heard it all."  
  


"I heard enough," he said quietly.  "I fuckin' heard enough."  He wavered a little on his feet, then, reminding Nuriko of just how much this man had had to drink, and just how late the hour was growing.

"Ne, Tasuki-chan," he said with as much false cheer as he could muster, managing to pull himself up from the bed and move to the bandit's side.  Once there, he placed his hands gently on Tasuki's shoulders and turned him around; the seventeen-year-old's cheeks were wet with tears, lips pressed into a thin white line, but his eyes were bloodshot and unfocused, seeming to take a very long time to meet Nuriko's own.  "Why don't you get some sleep, ne?  It's getting late, and—"

He expected an argument.  He did not, however, expect Tasuki to simply nod, sink to the ground, and curl up on the floor at his feet.  Startled, Nuriko stood there for a moment, staring down at the bandit whose eyes were now closed, head pillowed on one arm, chest moving rhythmically in time to his breathing.  He looked so small, lying down there, and Nuriko realized for the first time just how _young _Tasuki was—just how young _all_ of them were...  

_We're just children.  We shouldn't have to go through these kinds of things..._

His jaw clenched.  _But...we're Suzaku no Shichiseishi, and that makes us adults, no matter how young we are.  It's not fair...but, it's true.  _

Sighing, the violet-haired seishi walked back to the bed and—after carefully transferring most of the bottles to a nearby shelf—pulled the top blanket free and draped it over the sleeping bandit.  Tasuki murmured something, shifting a bit on the floor, and then he clutched the blanket close with his free hand, let out a deep sigh, and was still.

~*~

At first, he was completely and entirely certain that the rapping was a part of his dreams.  He'd been having the usual nightmare, where Miaka was running far ahead of him, and he _knew_ she was running towards danger and death, but no matter how desperately he chased after her, he never seemed to be able to catch up.  When he heard the sudden thudding, so quick and loud and urgent, his first wild thought was that maybe Miaka had realized the danger and was turning around, running back towards him...but, then, the dream was fading around him, the distant image of reddish-brown hair and wide, smiling green eyes vanishing into the mists of wakefulness...

Eyes flaring open, Hotohori sat up in his bed with a start.  His heart was pounding in his chest, his entire body trembling with the adrenaline of having been jarred from sleep; it wasn't until the sound was repeated, now very easily identifiable as the pounding of a fist on his chamber door, that he was able to calm his racing heart and swing his legs over the side of the bed.  

The fact that someone was actually knocking on his chamber door this late could not be a sign of anything good; as such, he moved quickly and quietly to the door, drawing the warm red sleeping robe more tightly around his body, and soon had his fingers poised on the knob.  The knocking halted the moment he began to pull the door towards him, and when he peered out into the darkness of the palace walkway, expecting to see a frantic Miaka or perhaps even one of his advisers, he was faced, instead, with two very wide, very uncertain-looking violet eyes.

Hotohori frowned, a slim line arcing through his brow.  "Nuriko?"  The older man's hair was loose and disheveled, the braid that had been draped over his shoulder coming free of its ties; his eyes were narrowed and worried, his lips pressed tightly together.  "Is everything all right?"

Nuriko stared up at him in silence for a moment, seeming as if he'd just realized where he was standing and who he'd dragged from bed...and then he sighed, all the strength seeming to bleed from his shoulders, and asked softly, "Can I come in?"

He had heard the rumors that had been drifting through the palace about Nuriko lately.  His own advisers had spoken to him about the violet-haired seishi on more than one occasion, demanding to know why he allowed someone who had so deceived him to remain close by.  _He is a man_, they had said.  _It would have been proper, you consorting with him, when he was still a member of the harem—and a _woman_--but now that you are aware that he's a man, it wouldn't be wise to let yourself be seen with him too often.  You should avoid him, Heika-sama.  Now that the Court is aware of his deceptions, they hold no love for him, and if you let yourself be associated with him like this, even in nothing more than friendship, their hatred for him may drift onto your shoulders.  In times such as these, can you afford the disdain of your people?_

He could see the faces of his advisers, now, hear the angry words they would have for him if they were to discover that he had allowed this man into his bed chambers so late at night.  But, great Suzaku, it was _Nuriko!  _So much had changed since that first realization of the small seishi's true gender; they had grown close, become friends—shared secrets.  How could he turn Nuriko away, with the clear signs of grief and pain on his face?  How could he turn him away, when he knew that Nuriko knew of the rumors, too, that Nuriko was just as aware as he was as to what would happen if they were seen together like this?

The thoughts flickered through his mind over the course of one or two seconds.  Then, glancing briefly at the empty walkway, Hotohori pushed the door the rest of the way open, wrapped a supportive arm around his friend's shoulders, and led Nuriko into the room.  

As the smaller seishi seemed to be in something of a daze, he led him to the large, comfortable couch in the outer chambers.  Circular and cushioned with red velvet, the couch was a favorite place of his to simply sit and think, or sometimes to catch up on his reading.  And, indeed, the soft fabric seemed to comfort Nuriko somewhat, because the older man relaxed when he sat down on it, tense shoulders loosening, breathing slowing to something near normal.  The violet-haired man waited until Hotohori had lowered himself onto the cushion beside him, red robes pooling around him, before opening his mouth to speak.

"Chichiri...told me...about what happened between him and Tasuki."

A jolt of shock ran the length of the young emperor's spine; before he managed to draw breath enough to reply, however, Nuriko had plunged onward.

"H-He said that he didn't think Tasuki knew about it—that it was him, I mean—but..."  His voice went suddenly quiet.  "Tasuki overheard, Hotohori-sama.  He knows, and he...he's not taking it well.  I'm...worried about him.  A-And I'm sorry to come here so late and wake you up, but I didn't know who else to talk to about it, and Chichiri said that he told you about it and so I--"

"Shh.  It's all right."  He gave Nuriko a small smile, hoping that it might calm the tremors from that soft alto, or the worried, panicked gleam from his eyes.  "It's all right.  I don't mind.  I told you before, didn't I, that you could come to me when you needed to talk?"  
  


Nuriko's gaze drifted suddenly downward, a slight flush creeping into his cheeks.  "H...Hai.  Arrigato, Hotohori-sama."  He sat like that for a few moments, chewing on his lower lip, and then his head snapped back up, and the concern had seeped back into his eyes.  "Demo, what can we do about Tasuki?  It must be killing him to know that he—"  The flush darkened.  "It must be killing him."

"Nuriko," Hotohori said firmly, "Tasuki will be fine.  He's strong.  And it isn't as if this has just _happened_.  He's been dealing with it for years.  But, if it would make you feel better, I could have a talk with him in the morning."

Nuriko regarded him skeptically.  "A talk?"

"Hai.  Perhaps it will make him feel better, to know that he has our support."

The older man's slim eyebrows came together, furrowing the skin between them.  "Oh, Hotohori-sama, I don't think Tasuki would like that.  He hates it that we know about this already, and I think that if we tried to talk to him about it...I-I don't think he'd like that.  Especially if he's sober."

Hotohori considered for a moment, hands folded lightly in his lap, flickers of moonlight shining silvery in his long hair.  "All right," he said at last, and there was a note of finality to the words.  "We won't speak of it to him, then.  But, we should still be there for him.  Eat meals with him, be there if he needs to talk—he could sit in on my audience session tomorrow, if he wished."

Nuriko smiled, bringing a familiar and welcome warmth to his eyes.  "I don't like your advisers much, Hotohori-sama," he said wryly, "but I still wouldn't wish that on them."  
  


The young emperor laughed, very lightly, and smiled down at his friend.  "Perhaps you're right."

They sat there for awhile longer, speaking of more mundane things, and eventually a yawning Nuriko started on the trek back to his own quarters.  Hotohori stood in the doorway, watching the smaller seishi until he vanished around the corner, and then he slipped back into his room and pushed the door closed.  The traces of a smile played on his lips as he made his way back to his bed, and he couldn't help but wonder at just what it was about Nuriko that could make him feel so comfortable and at peace...

He slipped back into bed after taking a sip from the water glass on the bureau, and despite how many hours stood between him and morning, there were no nightmares.

....at least until he woke up the next morning to a frantic rapping on his door, and Nuriko told him that Tasuki was gone.

~*~

And now, because Mouse-chan made me do it...

**ANNNNNNNN AKUGI!**

**Narrator:**  At first, he was completely and entirely certain that the rapping was a part of his dreams.  

**Nuriko:**  *bursts in with microphone, dressed in baggy pants and a shirt with the word "PHAT" written on it*  Yo, yo, Hotohori, gotta tell ya a story!  'Bout Tasuki, an' the dude with the maaaaask!

**Mouse-chan:** Ne, shouldn't Suboshi be the one to say, "Yo-yo?"

**Nuriko:**  *bursts into tears*  You messed up my rhythm!  Now I'll never get it back! 

**Hotohori:**  What did Nuriko ever do to deserve such an attack?

**Nuriko:**  I didn't do a thing!

**Tasuki:**  'cept fuckin' try to sing.

**Nuriko:**  Shut up, wouldja?

**Miaka:**  Yeah, couldja?

**Tasuki:**  FINE!  Fuckin' weirdos...

--;

**PS:**  Ahhhhhhh, I'm sorry!!  I've been so bad lately about reading fics, but I've...well, been a little preoccupied with writing. ^_^;;  I prrrrrrromise, though, I'll catch up soon!!  *nodnodnod*  


End file.
